


Space Boots, Not Brogues (or, the Jupiter Ascending AU nobody asked for)

by mightierthanthecanon



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015), Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightierthanthecanon/pseuds/mightierthanthecanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you saying you’re…what? An alien?”</p><p>The man’s face softens, and he gives a precise little shake of his head. “Not exactly. I am a genomgineered human. Part human, part…wolf. I’m a lycantant. We’re bred for the military.”</p><p>“So you are a soldier,” Eggsy says, latching onto the only identifiable word in that shitshow of an explanation and holding on for dear life.</p><p>“Of sorts,” the man says, still looking intensely at Eggsy. “You can call me Harry Hart.”<br/>--<br/>Or, the hottest werewolf Eggsy's ever seen outside of a Twilight movie drops into his life out of nowhere, saves his life, and changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Boots, Not Brogues (or, the Jupiter Ascending AU nobody asked for)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShyWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyWriter/gifts).



> I could never, in any possible world, do justice to ShyWriter's amazing prompt, so...here's my best shot!

“You’re going to be good for Mummy, right?” Daisy’s half asleep and barely listening, but smiling nonetheless as Eggsy lowers her into the crib. It’s 3pm, the clinic closes at 5pm, and today is the day he’s going to donate sperm. He almost laughs aloud as he thinks it. _Eggsy Unwin, sperm donor._ He stifles another laugh, closing the door softly behind him. Not a second too late, because he hears Dean’s voice as soon as he leaves the room. 

“I thought you were putting the little brat to sleep, not doing a fucking comedy routine.” 

Eggsy’s good mood evaporates in an instant. Thrumming though his body like alcohol, anger lights his nerves and sharpens his vision, until he’s certain his vision is actually bleeding red. Eggsy has never been sure whether Dean’s ability to infuriate him was a learned skill or just an innate talent, along with bruising his mother where strangers don’t notice and convincing everyone in this shithole of an apartment that everything he does (including taking a cut of their money) is to “help” them. There are a dozen insults at the tip of Eggsy’s tongue, and his hands are already clenching for a fight, but Daisy is sleeping. Daisy is _sleeping_ and she needs to stay that way until his mother wakes up or Eggsy comes back. He’s kept her out of Dean’s reach as much as possible, thank God. No point in her getting as fucked up as he is, right? 

He spins on his heel, his jaw clenched tight, and answers “She’s sleeping,” as flatly as possible. and heads towards the door, picking up his toolbox as he goes. Dean stops him then, with a slap on his shoulder that feels as heavy as a punch. 

“You going to the Brookman house?” Eggsy wants to grin, but ducks down to hide his face. At least Dean was stupid.

“Yep.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll be able to afford your little telescope after all. After I get my cut,” he adds laughing, and that’s fucking it.

In this apartment, bought and furnished by someone who wasn’t his father, with these people who never knew his father, under the heel of a man who is not and never will be his father, all he has of his dad is his mother’s memories—those, and a shared fondness for the stars. So yes, he’s going to buy a fucking telescope, because he can’t buy his way out of here. He can’t buy his mom an apartment. And, right now, the stars are all he fucking has.

“You’ll get your fucking money,” he spits, and storms out before Dean can see him shake, surer than he’s ever been in his life. 

* * *

 He’s slightly less sure when he waits in the clinic. It’s blessedly discreet, with small lettering and a symbol that…well, Eggsy can’t really tell what it is, but he knows a dick when he sees one, and it isn’t that. Still, he feels…weird about the whole thing. It’s not that Dean is the only “father figure” he’s ever known (although that doesn’t help), and it’s not that some days he can feel the weight of his missing father like a weight around his shoulders (although that doesn’t help either), it’s that he loves Daisy. He _loves_ Daisy. That little girl is the light of his life, and the only good thing in his world. He couldn’t imagine ever leaving her—and she’s just his sister. Leaving his own flesh and blood to someone he doesn’t know—can never know? He stretches, physically uncomfortable with the idea even as he knows it’s the only way to bring him closer to his father. 

“Gary Unwin?” He nearly jumps out of his skin when the nurse calls his name. “The doctor will see you now,” she says, politely ignoring his outburst. Nonetheless, he feels like everyone’s looking at him as he makes his way down the hall to Room 7, wants to shout “Yeah, I’m donating sperm, what of it!?” He doesn’t. 

Eggsy hasn’t been in many hospitals, but he imagines they’re all like this. White. Antiseptic. Suffocating. Possibly the least sexy place in the world. He’s not horny. He’s not close to horny. He doesn’t think he could get hard now if he tried. Eggsy sighs. This was a bad idea in the first place.

As soon as he steps towards the door, a nurse comes in with a cup.

“For me?” he asks.

The nurse nods. “Take it,” she says, and Eggsy does. As he picks it up, he feels a tiny prick in his neck. All of his blood runs cold. “What was that?” he asks, nerves deadening as his muscles begin to go slack.

“Just relax,” she says, voice heavy, and he panics even more. The door opens slowly and three more nurses come in, each with the look of numb determination on their faces as the nurse.

“Let me up.” Eggsy says, even as his lips begin to go numb, “Let me the FUCK up!”

He knows whatever they’ve given him is working because he doesn’t notice the restraints until he hears them _snick_ closed around his wrists. Then, he starts to rise, and it feels like he’s being lifted by invisible strings. Eggsy wonders what he’s been given, and then he really starts to be scared.

“Is it him?” asks one of the new nurses. Behind the fear, and the panic, Eggsy wonders who they’re talking to, and what they mean. He isn’t anyone. He’s just Eggsy. But that doesn’t seem to matter to them.

The head nurse nods. “Yes. Kill him.”

Then he’s in trouble, screaming curses and hurling insults. At least he wants to. The medicine starts working on his mind too, so he finds himself mumbling, murmuring really, like Daisy had done before he put her in the crib. 

That’s when he notices the nurses operating on him aren’t nurses at all. They’re not even people. They don’t look human. Eyes too big, bodies too small, and jumping and twitching like something out of an R. L. Stein book. His eyes close, tears sliding down his face, and Eggsy feels more helpless than he’s ever felt in his life. 

“Let him go,” a voice calls from the door, cool clipped syllables that wake him from the fever he’s been drowning in. The aliens seem to be as distracted by the voice as he is, and they turn from him for a moment. Before he can see who (or what, he thinks with a shudder) has interrupted him, he hears something even better than an interrupting voice—a big fucking gun. The aliens are distracted by the man (it’s definitely a man, he can tell that much) with the big gun for some time. Eggsy can’t tell how long it takes—dragging himself out of his coma seems almost impossible, but he fights hard enough to twist himself around and see who’s saved him. A man, sharp-eyed and broad-shouldered, wearing the ever-loving _fuck_ out of a double-breasted pinstriped suit. It’s a fever dream, it has to be. Eggsy follows the lines of the man’s body to the floor as the sound of bullets fades in the background and curses.

“Fucking brogues,” he mumbles, looking at the man’s gleaming leather shoes. 

The man smirks. “Oxfords, not brogues,” he says.

It’s the last thing Eggsy hears before he passes out. 

* * *

 It’s the first time in years that he hasn’t woken to the sound of Dean yelling, or of Daisy crying. There’s no sound, just quiet, blessed silence. That’s when he hears it—a quiet, methodic ticking—and all of yesterday comes rushing back to him. The screams, the shouts, the prick of the needle, the _fucking aliens._ He isn’t even consciously aware of the gun at his side until he’s up on his feet, shouting and feels the heavy weight of it in his hand. 

“I thought it would make you feel better,” he hears. Looking up, Eggsy sees the sharp, straight lines of a man in a suit. It’s the man from before—the man who rescued him. Still, he feels overwhelmed, not by recognition, but by fear, and he acts without thinking. Eggsy’s hand squeezes instinctively, attempting to fire the gun. It only clicks, uselessly in his hand. Of course.

“What the fuck?” Eggsy groans. The man doesn’t flinch.

“It works better if you disable the safety just above your thumb,” he says, with his back still to Eggsy. 

Eggsy does it, and the gun clicks satisfyingly in his hand. He raises it again. “Now I don’t know who the fuck you are, but—“

“I saved your life.” 

“That ain’t a fucking answer, mate. Who are you?” His voice is trembling, and the gun is shaking in his hand. “Are you a soldier or summat?”

“Yes.”

“In the army?” 

“Not quite.” The man lifts his head. “Is that really the question you want to ask me, Eggsy?”

It isn’t. Eggsy takes a deep breath, seeing the… _things_ from the hospital behind his eyelids. In a small voice, he asks “What are you?”

The man squares his shoulders, then turns to face him. He doesn’t look like an alien. He looks…well. He looks good in a suit, for one. Eggsy swallows nervously as the man walks toward him.

“It can be difficult for people from underdeveloped worlds to hear that their planet is not the only inhabited planet in the universe.”

It’s a dream. It has to be. One too many knocks on the head from Dean. Or too much whiskey at the pub with the boys. Eggsy pinches at the skin on his forearm.

“You aren’t dreaming.”

“Yes, I am,” he says to himself. “Yes, I am. I’m—”

“What?” the man interrupts, coming to stand above him, “The only intelligent species, on the only inhabitable planet in a universe so full of planets that you don't even have a number to describe how many there are? Do you really believe that, Eggsy?”

Eggsy looks up at him, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, the sharpness in his eyes, the slightly predatory smirk on his face. It’s too much.

“Fuck you, man,” Eggsy says angrily. But he’s more scared than upset, and his hand falls to the side, unlocking the gun. “Are you saying you’re…what? An alien?”

The man’s face softens, and he gives a precise little shake of his head. “Not exactly. I am a genomgineered human. Part human, part…wolf. I’m a lycantant. We’re bred for the military.”

“So you are a soldier,” Eggsy says, latching onto the only identifiable word in that shitshow of an explanation and holding on for dear life.

“Of sorts,” he says, still looking intensely at Eggsy. “You can call me Harry Hart.” In alternate circumstances, Eggsy would be distracted by his eyes, his hands, the uptick at the corner of his lips, but having been almost murdered by fucking aliens, he’s got a bit more on his mind. Lucky for him, Harry doesn’t mind listening. Eggsy doesn’t know if he really believes the whole alien thing yet, but “believing the hot guy in the nice suit with the big gun who just saved your life” doesn’t sound like a terrible plan to him. Not that he has a choice. 

* * *

 Less than an hour later, they’re standing in front of a huge window, hundreds of feet in the air, and Harry Hart is showing him shoes. 

“Now these use the force of gravity, redirecting it into deferential equation slopes that you can surf.”

They are, quite possibly, the most amazing things Eggsy has ever seen in his life.

“Sick,” he says, stepping closer to Harry. “Those for me?”

“No, Eggsy,” Harry says. “They’re for me. That is for you.”

Outside the window, Eggsy sees a shaft of light, like there’s a huge flashlight on the ground beaming up into the sky, with tiny motes of dust glittering. After a moment, he realizes that they’re not just floating, they’re moving. Eggsy follows the light, then stops.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a ship.”

He shakes his head, feeling himself start to come apart. It’s one thing to hear about aliens. It’s quite another to see what looks like a prop from Independence Day hovering above your head.

“That’s not a ship! That’s a fucking spaceship is what that is!”

“Yes, quite,” Harry says, then gestures towards the beam of light. “You ready?”

Eggsy stumbles back from the window. “Are you out of your bloody mind?”

“Come here.” Harry says.

He just looks at him, the sound of the spaceship unbelievably loud in his ears, and freezes. Aliens tried to kill him, there’s a spaceship waiting in the air, and a man less than a foot from him who is apparently the space version of a fucking werewolf. 

“Eggsy?” Harry says.

Eggsy’s vaguely aware that he’s hyperventilating, but can’t stop it.

“Eggsy!” Harry says, and there’s something in his voice—an edge, an authority. Words echo in his mind. _Let him go_ , he’d said. The panic in his chest doesn’t disappear, but it eases a bit. He walks toward Harry, who picks him up like he doesn’t weigh anything.

Eggsy doesn’t even has time to protest before the glass of the window shimmers out of existence, and Harry steps out into the light.

Being in a room hundreds of stories in the air is one thing. Being at that same exact height in the air, free-falling in space with nothing to save you from certain death but a beam of light and gravity boots? Entirely different. It is a point of pride for Eggsy that he does not scream.

“I’ve got you,” Harry says, but Eggsy barely hears him.

All of London stretches out below him, for miles and miles. The beam does its work, and they rise slowly through the cool night air. For once, Eggsy is silent. He realizes that his hands are looped around Harry’s shoulders and flushes slightly in embarrassment. Harry has mercy on him and says nothing, only smiling slightly as he loosen his grip. Suddenly, Eggsy hears a sound like wind. Looking up, he sees five more spaceships, moving fast, and aiming at them. 

“Pardon me, Eggsy,” Harry says, guiding Eggsy’s arms back around his neck, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to hold on.”

Eggsy swallows hard, then does as Harry asks. 

“Mind the suit.”

Harry flies off so fast Eggsy can hardly hear the spaceship being blasted to bits behind them. 

* * *

 Eggsy has always had a running tally of how many times he’s escaped death. _It should have been me_ , he thinks sometimes, when he sees his mother with black eyes, or hears her crying into her pillow at night. If Eggsy had died, not his father, he and his mom would still be together. She would be happy. And Daisy would have a father. So he remembers every single opportunity for it to have been different. Yesterday, it was three. Five minutes ago, it was four. Now? Too many to count.

“What the fuck was that?” He’s yelling now, shaking in the car Harry had stolen as soon as they were out of danger.

“Eggsy, listen—”

“You’ve got me? You’ve got me?! You’ve got me into something you can’t get me out of, haven’t you?” The anger feels good on him, like a suit. Eggsy stretches his arms and keeps going. “Tell me what’s going on right now, you fucking wanker, or I swear to Christ I’ll—” 

This time Harry interrupts him. “It appears there’s a war brewing within the Abrasax family.”

For the first time in his life, it occurs to Eggsy that it might be possible to know _too much_. His brain actually hurts. “What?” 

“The Abrasax family,” Harry repeats. “One of the oldest and most powerful dynasties in the universe.”

Eggsy fumes. Fucking snobs in their fucking ivory towers. In space. “So what, they can destroy whatever they want?Kill people? Kill me?”

Harry sighs, and Eggsy can see his jaw clench. He’s as upset as Eggsy is, but he knows something. Fucker.

“Why is this happening to me?” he asks.

“I asked Gazelle that when I took this job. She did not seem inclined to share.”

“You’ve got the wrong guy, I swear. I don’t even know an Abasax.”

“Abrasax,” Harry corrects. “And I’m fairly sure it’s Valentine, the eldest, who wants you dead. He controls this planet.”

“But I’m,” Eggsy falters for a moment. “I’m just a pleb. I’m nobody.”

Harry looks at him for a long moment, then starts, turning his eyes back to the road.

“No, Eggsy,” he says softly. “No, I don’t believe that’s true.” 

* * *

 By the time Eggsy wakes, the sun is high in the sky, and it feels like he’s been riding in this car for most of his life. He wants nothing more than to jump up and stretch his arms and legs, but stops himself, settling for a few quick ankle rolls while he attempts to spy on the man beside him. It’s been hours, at least, and Eggsy knows he looks a mess—can feel the crust in his eyes, the dryness in his mouth. Harry Hart, however, looks like he just stepped out of GQ, or one of those fancy tailors Eggsy passes when he takes Daisy to church on Sundays. He’s sat up straight, staring intensely at the road as he weaves his way between cars. Normally doubtful of anyone’s driving but his own, Eggsy would be usually be scared if anyone was driving this fast. Terrified, even. But Harry knows how to drive. It’s not reckless when he does it, it’s…methodical. Considered. Eggsy wonders if he takes that much care in every aspect of his life.

“That’s enough, Eggsy,” Harry says, like he can hear the precise moments Eggsy’s thoughts…shift. “I know you’re awake.” 

Eggsy jumps up as though he’s been shot, banging the back of his head against the window. “Yeah? Well, so what?” he fires back, embarrassed, “Can’t a bloke get a little time to himself?”

Harry’s face falls, just a little, and just like that Eggsy can see the tension in his neck, the shadows under his eyes. “As soon as you’re out of danger, you’ll have all the time you need,” he says, looking reflexively in the rear mirror.

_Shit_. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. You found me, you got me here—you saved my fucking life, man! I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

An unreadable look crosses Harry’s face, and Eggsy remembers. The silence between them stretches until it almost becomes uncomfortable. “Thank you,” Eggsy adds.

_Out of danger._ Eggsy remembers everything he learned last night.

“You said you worked for a girl named Gazelle, yeah?” 

Harry shakes his head. “A queen,” he corrects, “But yes.”

He swerves smoothly in and out of the opposite lane to fly past a line of cars and Eggsy pauses, feeling the door frame vibrate. When it’s over, Harry takes the next exit. Eggsy does not in any way appreciate the irony of being lost in his own country while a space werewolf from another planet drives around without a GPS. As he watches the landscape begin to change from expressways, to cobblestones, to dirt roads, Eggsy finds that he has more than enough time to think. It’s too much. He puts his winged sneakers on the dashboard, faking a calmness he absolutely does not feel.

“Is that where you’re taking me?”

There’s no way Eggsy would admit it, but as strange as it is, being with Harry, Eggsy doesn’t want to leave him, especially not for some Queen who’s angry and violent and probably mental like the rest of them. Harry glances over at him and Eggsy ducks his head to the floor, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He’s pouting, he knows, but he doesn’t want to go. And sitting helpless in this car, there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“No,” Harry says. “I’m taking you to Merlin.”

“Magicians now?” The laugh punches out of Eggsy before he can stop himself, and he sees Harry smile. “Next you’ll be introducing me to zombies, or telling me dragons exist.”

Harry goes quiet, then, and Eggsy waits, hardly daring to breathe, for him to tell him about dragons. Please please _please_ let there be dragons. 

Without warning, the car shuts off, and Eggsy realizes that while he’d been staring at Harry, they’d pulled into the driveway of a small townhouse. It isn’t shabby in the least, but the small wooded area around it ensures that no one would be stumbling across it anytime soon. And definitely no trick or treating. 

For a few seconds, he misses home more desperately than he’d have imagined possible, but then the door swings open, and any thought he might have had about alerting his family fly out of his head. He would have expected a man who lives alone in the middle of the bloody woods to be just a bit casual, but he ain’t havin’ none of that. It’s another bloke—at least he looks like one. Eggsy can’t be sure of anything anymore. 

“Not a magician, Eggsy,” Harry says, with just enough of a twinkle in his eye to be unconvincing, “an interplanetary marshal, of the Aegis.”

Eggsy pauses. “Like a copper?”

Harry adjusts his glasses, then looks down his nose at Eggsy. It should not be attractive. It should not be appealing. It should not be arousing in any way. 

But Harry’s at least a foot taller than Eggsy and now he’s sat in the car, so he’s towering over Eggsy now, nearly blocking out the sun with the width of his chest and his shoulders. Eggsy swallows. He isn’t attracted to him. He just isn’t.

“I said interplanetary marshal, Eggsy,” Harry says. Eggsy opens his mouth to say something, but then Harry’s eyes flick to his lips and nothing comes out. He forgets to move. He forgets to breathe. 

“Do try to pay attention,” Harry says eventually, and his eyes are soft. Eggsy feels warm—not just from the sun, but all over. 

He is. He absolutely is.

Eggsy nods mindlessly and says the first thing that pops into his head.

“Yep. Space copper. Got it.”

This time, the eye roll is almost visible, and Harry almost has to bite his lip to keep from smirking. Eggsy laughs out loud and jumps out of the car, walking past Harry to the front door. His confidence falters, and he stumbles back when it opens of its own accord. 

“Late again, sir,” a man says, stepping out of the door and raising his eyebrows at Harry. His tone is brusque, but the look on his face is anything but. 

“Merlin,” Harry says.

“Galahad,” he responds. 

It takes Eggsy a moment to realize that the feeling tying knots in his stomach is jealousy. It’s completely mad, ridiculously mad, even. The guy’s a fucking space werewolf for fuck’s sake. But he finds himself rushing around the car and vaulting up the stairs to introduce himself nonetheless. Before he can do anything, the guy—Merlin?—holds a gun to Harry’s head.

“Whoa!” he yells, making a dash for Harry before he realizes what he’s doing. But the two men are faster than him, and stronger too. Harry knocks his hand away with ease, and they both roll out of Eggsy’s way, throwing punches and sweeping legs with more grace and elegance than he’d managed in any of his gymnastics routines. Eggsy circles them, looking for a way in, until he notices that neither of them seem to want to do any kind of harm.

“Did I say late, Galahad? I meant dead,” Merlin says with a second pistol (where did that even come from?)at Harry’s throat. “Dead.” His voice wavers with an emotion Eggsy can’t quite place.

Harry inclines his head. “My apologies, Merlin. Gazelle requested complete confidentiality when she hired me to find Eggsy.” 

“Abrasax?” Merlin asks, and just like that he’s on the floor, Harry’s boot on his chest. 

“Yes,” Harry says. “Abrasax. Lancelot should be able to confirm.”

A young woman comes around then, leaning against the door frame with a look that says she’s seen this more times than she can count. Eggsy likes her already.

“Don’t drag me into your mating rituals,” she says, and takes Eggsy to the side. 

“Roxanne,” she says briskly, holding a hand out for him to shake, “but you can call me Roxy.” 

“Eggsy,” he says automatically. “Um, Roxy,” he says, flashing a smile at her just in case, “what’s going on here?”

She shakes her head sympathetically. “I don’t know.” She glances over at Harry then. “But you’re in good hands.”

Suddenly, the annoying bees become a swarm, buzzing incessantly around Eggsy’s head and ignoring his attempts to brush them away.

“Can I get a little help here?” he asks. Then, the swarm becomes so thick that he can’t see, can’t hear, and everything in him panics. “Harry?” He yells. “Harry!”

But even as he does so, something changes, and suddenly he can see. As Eggsy waves his arms around, the bees don’t fly away from him, they follow his hands. Confused, he moves his hands like a conductor and laughs when the bees follow them, circling him. 

“Your Majesty,” Merlin says, awestruck, and kneels.

Roxy follows, a smile on her face. “Your Majesty,” she says. 

Harry says nothing.

* * *

 There are less bees inside the house, thank God, but the few that remain float around Eggsy’s fingers like living jewelry, buzzing in a way that quickly becomes almost comforting. It’s almost distracting enough to make him forget the way Harry’s face shuttered as soon as the bees noticed him, or how he hadn’t been able to look at Eggsy since. He’d been surrounded by strangers and aliens for hours, but this was the first moment sine everything had happened that he’d ever felt alone. 

“Roxy’s arranging transport with the Aegis, so if you don’t mind,” Merlin says, unbuttoning Harry’s jacket, “You do need to heal.”

Eggsy starts, feeling vaguely like a voyeur as Harry’s suit jacket falls to the floor, quickly followed by Harry’s formerly white shirt, red with blood. 

“Holy shit,” he gasps, and realizes that he’s been bleeding this whole time. When he carried Eggsy to the car, when he drove Eggsy here, when he fought with Merlin—all that time he’d been bleeding out?

Merlin picks up a bottle and sprays it carefully on Harry’s wounds and Eggsy watches, transfixed, as the flesh knits itself back together. 

“Oi!” he shouts, breaking Merlin’s concentration. It’s gratifying to see both men wear matching expressions of annoyance when they turn to him. “I know you said he wasn't a magician, but that right there? That’s magic, innit?”

A ghost of a smile crosses Harry’s face and it’s like the sun’s just come out. 

“No, Eggsy. Not magic. Science.” He turns to Merlin. “Answer the question. Do you or do you not want your wings back?”

Eggsy wants to ignore it, but he can’t. “You had wings?” he blurts out, then pauses as Harry's face shutters again. Instead of answering, he turns his back to Eggsy, showing him what look like huge circular scars on his shoulder blades. 

“A bio-neural-synaptic prosthetic,” Merlin says. “The mark of a Kingsman.”

“But you’re not—

“No.” He smiles, sadly. “Not anymore, your Majesty.”

Okay. Now Eggsy’s had enough.

“All right, now who’s the joker that thought it was funny to call me that?”

“No one,” Merlin says. “Bees are genetically designed to recognize royalty.”

“Royalty?” Eggsy repeats. He thinks of the tiny apartment he shares with his mother, Dean, and half the neighborhood. He thinks of the legal jobs he takes to make money, the illegal ones. He thinks of Daisy’s crib and the daisy chain he’d made her because he didn’t have enough money to buy her a present. “Royalty?” he says again.

Harry shifts, and Eggsy’s reminded of their fist meeting, in the warehouse. It seems so long ago now. 

“Being an Entitled has nothing to do with what one does for a living,” Harry says. “It’s something that one either is, or isn’t.” He sighs, then turns around. There’s nothing but pain in his eyes. “And you are, Eggsy.” He pauses, then corrects himself. “Your majesty. They’ll be coming for you.”

“Who will?” Eggsy asks.

“Everyone.” 

* * *

 Harry talks a lot of shit about criminals and aliens and bounty hunters coming after him, but for the next few hours, nothing happens. Eggsy would have spent the time on the phone with his mother if Harry hadn’t (rather rudely) taken his phone from him in the sitting room. He hadn’t thrown it away, but had taken the sim card out and ground it under his heel, then destroyed the phone itself by…crushing it in his palm. 

Now, Eggsy’s got quite a long list of kinks, and pleasures, and distractions, and things that turn him on, and a really tall, really hot, really strong bloke who wears the fuck out of a three piece suit? Ranks pretty high on every single list Eggsy’s ever had, even if he happens to be a half-human, half-wolf alien hybrid...thing.

When he looks up from his fantasy, Harry’s standing in the doorway. The suit is gone, replaced by a tight black t-shirt and leather pants with no less than 4 different holsters (that he can see). Eggsy’s pretty focused on the one wrapped tightly around his thigh, though.

“Your majesty,” Harry says. And in his voice it sounds like...something else. It makes his stomach do backflips.Harry swallows, then tips his head purposefully towards Eggsy. "Come with me,” he says. And then he walks out of the room. Eggsy barely has time to be offended that Harry's not watching him before he follows him out the door. 

“I attacked an Entitled,” he says without preamble. “Bit him in the middle of a gala. It was my fault, but Merlin was in charge of the mission. He took the blame.”

Eggsy gasps despite himself, and he stares. That explains a lot. He spares a moment to mourn the sight of Harry with wings. “That’s fucked.” 

Harry doesn’t flinch, but he closes his eyes, smiling sadly. “Yes.” 

“Why?”

Harry shakes his head. “I had no control. I tore his throat out. I wanted to.” 

“Because he was an Entitled?”

“Yes.”

“Because you don’t like royalty?”

“Not quite. It’s something…” He pauses, uncomfortable. “It’s something about the way they smell.” 

Eggsy looks at him, confused.

“As a lycantant, I have a preternaturally sensitive sense of smell. At that moment, my instincts overcame my training. It has not happened before or since.”

Eggsy remembers with vivid clarity exactly what he was doing before Harry walked through his door and inhales so fast that he chokes.

“Nothing’s happened with me, right?” 

“True,” Harry concedes, “But you aren’t an Entitled yet. You still need to go through the verification and induction proceses.” 

“What, are you worried something’ll happen and you’ll go barmy and attack me?”

He means it as a joke, but Harry’s eyes flicker. Not sad, just…dark. And Eggsy’s belly twists in a manner that isn’t quite unpleasant.

“Something like that, your Majesty” he says. 

Eggsy associates Harry with coolness-with calm and logic and safety, but now…now it feels like the room’s a hundred degrees hotter for having Harry in it. Eggsy can feel himself flushing, even more so as he watches Harry’s eyes follow the redness across his cheeks, down to his neck, and below.  

“And that would be a bad thing?” Eggsy asks.

“It might hurt.” Harry says, eying Eggsy’s neck, and he’s sure they’re not talking about biting anymore. At least…not the bad kind.

Eggsy tilts his chin up, deliberately exposing his neck. “Promise?” he asks.

Before anything can happen, there’s a beep as Merlin comes through on the intercom. At least it sounds like an intercom. Eggsy can’t see a speaker anywhere. Damned alien technology.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt, Galahad,” Merlin interrupts, “But they’re here.” 

* * *

 “They” turn out to be about a dozen different bounty hunters, personally hired by Charlie Abrasax to snatch Eggsy out from under Gazelle’ nose. It's the first time since he’s known Harry that he hasn’t saved him. Eggsy knows in his mind that Harry didn’t let him go on purpose, but he can’t help wondering if that isn’t exactly what’s happened. He’s in space, in Charlie Abrasax’s alcazar. The fountain of youth is apparently harvested from the bodies of dead humans, and all Eggsy can think about is Harry.

Harry, the one person in this new, strange universe that he knew he could trust. Harry, the only person he knew had his best interests at heart. Harry, the only person who could make him feel at home no matter what galaxy he was in. Harry was gone, and Eggsy was alone.

Charlie coughs quietly, evidently too well-mannered to point out how rudely Eggsy's been ignoring him. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Eggsy asks.

“I said you’ll own the Earth.”

“I’ll own what?” Eggsy says, aware that he’s begun to shout.

“The Earth,” Charlie says, like Eggsy is the biggest idiot he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.

“You can’t own the Earth," Eggsy says, like it’s obvious.

“Of course you can,” Charlie says, and then smiles condescendingly at Eggsy. 

It’s like Eggsy’s brain shorts out. Sure, he’s known snobby pricks in England, but this is…this is something else. His whole body lights up with anger. Then Charlie laughs.

“It’s just a planet.”

The crack that Charlie’s nose makes when Eggsy breaks it is satisfying loud. For all their advancements—their wealth, their Regenex—the Abrasax’s are human after all. 

“Just a planet?!” Eggsy screams, venting out his frustration on the snotty Abragax’s face, “Just a planet!?”

Charlie’s guards moves forward to attack Eggsy, and he takes two of them down, using a leg sweep he picked up from Harry when the creature is blown backwards by an energy blast from across the hall.  

“Harry?”

He looks up from his fight, startled, and pauses to stare at Eggsy, knocking out a guard behind him without blinking an eye.

“Ah,” Charlie says, the blood and the broken nose gone as soon as they had come, “This must be the splice.”

“He belongs with his family,” Charlie says.

Harry’s gaze turns to Charlie, and he strides forward, placing himself between Eggsy and Charlie. It takes a moment for Eggsy to realize that he’s actually growling. Charlie may be a prince, and a member of a royal family, but he wilts in the face of Harry’s rage. 

“He’s contacted the Aegis, sir,” a woman who looks oddly like Bambi says to Charlie. He sighs, then waves his hand in the direction of Eggsy and Harry.

“Fine,” he says. “You would have wound up there eventually.”

Then he shakes his head.

“You know you’re right. You may be a recurrence, but you’re nowhere near the man my father was.” Eggsy doesn’t know him, has never met him, but it hurts, nonetheless. 

“A defective splice and a common terrsie.” Charlie scoffs. “You deserve each other.”

“This way, _your majesty,”_ Harry says loudly, and leads Eggsy away. 

* * *

 Eggsy doesn’t know anything about spaceships, except what he’s learned from playing Mass Effect, but he knows this one is large, and probably soundproof. He knows this because he’s been yelling at Harry for the past 10 minutes and no one’s come in to make sure they’re both still alive yet. 

“What do you expect me to do?” Eggsy’s saying, “Grovel at your feet because you saved me from Abrasax and his fucking pigs? 

“Of course not, your Majesty,” Harry says quietly, and closes his eyes in that way he does when he feels guilty.

Eggsy feels sick to his stomach. He doesn’t want to be yelling at anyone, least of all Harry, but everything from the past few days seems to be coming down on him at once—almost dying at the hospital, being attacked by spaceships, kidnapped by bounty hunters and this, the latest violation, learning that humans kept themselves alive by…drinking human life—all Eggsy feels is anger. And he can’t stop himself. 

“It’s your fault I was there in the first place, wasn’t it?” Eggsy continues, the words filling his mouth like ash.

If Harry looked sad, or hurt, air anything, Eggsy would have stopped, but he does no such thing. He shifts, so that he’s standing directly in front of Eggsy, like he knows what’s happening and he wants to meet his castigation head on. It’s less conscious thought and more instinct that has Eggsy walking up to him like he’s spoiling for a fight.

Maybe he is.

“You took the job to kidnap me, didn’t you?”

“Your Majesty,” Harry says quietly, a note of warning in his voice. He’s so much bigger than him, Eggsy realizes. They haven’t been this close since Harry saved Eggsy that first night, when he held Eggsy in his arms and took out half a dozen spaceships with one hand. 

Eggsy takes another step forward, walking into Harry’s space. “And then you let those bounty hunter _things_ find me. Why?”

Harry flinches for real now, his mouth twisting with guilt, but he never once looks away from Eggsy. Eggsy wants him to fight back—to yell or scream at him, protesting his innocence—but Harry doesn’t. He stands there, implacable, and lets Eggsy’s anger wash over him, like he knows exactly what Eggsy wants, what Eggsy needs, and he’s going to give it to him whether it’s in his best interest or not. 

“Why?” Eggsy screams. “Because I’m a fucking Entitled now? Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Harry’s face softens then, and Eggsy feels Harry’s arms come up behind him, pulling him close and folding him into his body. It’s more than Eggsy can take. He starts fighting against it, beating his fists against Harry’s chest.

“Fuck you!” he screams, and Harry just holds him tighter, squeezing his arms until he can’t move. Eggsy screams and screams and screams, until tears choke his throat and he can only whimper brokenly into Harry’s neck. “Fuck you.”

He’s warmer than he has any right to be, as a space werewolf, so he’s his body is a few degrees higher than Eggsy’s on a regular basis, but this…He’s like a furnace now, and Eggsy can’t help moving closer. He’s past anger now, past tears, so he snuggles closer, his arms comfortably behind his back in Harry’s grasp and leans into him. 

“Why,” he starts,and the words are out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying. “Why did you let me go?”

And that’s it, then. It’s not that he was alone. It’s not that he was being held against his will in a spaceship more posh than any apartment he’s ever been in. It isn’t even the way Charlie seemed to insult him even while breathing. It’s that Harry wasn’t there. 

Harry opens his mouth. Eggsy can feel the hitch in his throat as he decides what to say. _Please don’t lie to me_ , he thinks. _Please don’t lie._

“I’m here now,” he says, but Eggsy can tell he’s holding back. Harry’s hands are tight on Eggsy’s arms, his body is hot and and hard in front of him, and all Eggsy can think is _more._ He shifts closer, so that Harry’s leg comes between his.

Within seconds, Harry has Eggsy’s arms behind his back and his wrists in one hot hand, forcing distance between them even though it’s more than obvious that he wants exactly the opposite. 

“Eggsy,” he says firmly, squeezing Eggsy’s wrists. “That’s quite enough.”

It’s supposed to be a warning, Eggsy knows, but Harry’s grip on his wrists doesn’t quite hurt, but it’s tight enough to feel good and lust is fogging his brain so he can barely think straight, much less remember what supposed to be appropriate. He blinks up at Harry, gaze lingering on his lips, and shakes his head.

“No, it ain't. And you fuckin’ know it.”

Harry pauses and looks down at him. Really looks at him. His eyes on Eggsy skin feel like a caress, sliding from his eyes to his lips and lower, to his throat. He’s taking too long and Eggsy’s too overwhelmed to wait.

“You left me,” Eggsy says again, because he’s a little shit and isn’t above using guilt to get what he wants.

A growl rumbles up from Harry’s chest as his hands tighten on Eggsy’s wrists. “Dirty tricks are beneath you, your Majesty,” he chides. 

_No they ain’t,_ he thinks, but his cock is insistent in the tight clothes Charlie put him in, and Harry’s hands on his wrists are almost to the point of pain. _Your majesty_ is supposed to be a term of deference, but not when Harry says it. Eggsy snorts. Only he could make a term for royalty sound vaguely scolding and unbelievably sexy. Eggsy whimpers, eyes sliding shut, as Harry’s hands tighten even more. 

Something’s changed, in the atmosphere. He’s hot and hard in his pants, but everything seems softer somehow, transformed by the sweet soreness in his wrists, and when he looks up at Harry, every single bone in his body wants to be kissed.

“Harry,” he breathes, tilting his chin up.

Harry smiles, bending down to Eggsy’s lips…and does not kiss him.

“I think not,” he says.

Eggsy could fucking cry. “Oh, come on!” he whines, but Harry just looks at him, smiling, and does not budge.

He isn’t scared of Harry, not even a little bit…but Eggsy recognizes the feeling of being preyed upon by a predator. Harry’s looking down at him…like he wants to eat him alive. He swallows, and Harry tracks the movement with his eyes.

“On the bed.” His eyes are hot, but his voice is just as cool and calm as it is when threatening aliens, or taking down bad guys. A shiver goes down Eggsy’s spine and he reaches down to adjust himself before Harry notices, which is dumb, because Harry’s a wolf—he notices everything. Harry can probably smell him oh GOD—

“Your majesty,” Harry warns, eyes flicking down between Eggsy’s legs, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Eggsy does. Harry comes over to him and pulls a silk tie from god knows where. He holds it out, pulling the fabric taut in his hands. He’s waiting for Eggsy with an eyebrow raised, as if to say _You wanted this._ And Eggsy did. He _does_. 

His feet find their way between Harry’s, and he bows his head.

The blindfold is cool as silk, but feels a hundred times stronger. It’s more than a little disorienting, and he starts to panic, just like he did when the bees attacked, and when he lost Harry to the bounty hunters. He wouldn’t…he wouldn’t leave him, Eggsy knows. 

But before he can open his mouth to call for him, Harry’s there, swooping down on him with lips as hot and firm as the rest of him, greedy and demanding. 

Eggsy reaches up and Harry catches his arms, twining them around his neck and kissing him like he’s dying without it. 

He only has a moment to regret that he’s not actually _seeing_ this version of Harry before he’s being pushed away with trembling hands. But he knows Harry isn’t going to leave him.

Maybe.Probably. Eggsy’s fairly sure.

“Harry?” he asks. 

But then he hears Harry’s breath, can feel it ghosting against his lips. 

“Oh Eggsy,” Harry breathes, and his voice is low and warm like Eggsy’s just done something endearing. He can almost hear the minute little smirk at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I’m here.” 

Eggsy tilts his chin, so Harry can access his neck, and he immediately feels Harry’s lips there, brushing against his pulse. 

“I’m right here.”

And he is. He stays there, right there. At Eggsy’s fingertips, as it were. He turns to the side, Harry’s there, he lifts his head, Harry kisses him. And kisses him. And kisses him. It feels like he’s tattooing his name on Eggsy’s body—his neck, his shoulders, the hollow of his hip, the backs of his knees—everywhere…except for the one place he really wants it.

“Harry,” he whines. “You gotta make me come. I can’t—

Immediately, Harry’s hands disappear and Eggsy lifts out of the bed, seeking his body instinctively. What he gets instead is a hand on his chest.

“I what?” Harry asks.

Eggsy can’t see, but he doesn’t need to. The raised eyebrow, the cocked head, the amused-but-trying-to-hide-it twist to his mouth—Eggsy can hear it all in his voice. A different man would protest, but Eggsy has his priorities straight. 

“Please, Harry,” he begs. “Please.”

Harry Hart’s fucking mouth is on him then, and he mouths through his pants as he presses with his fingers. 

“Well done, Eggsy,” he says. “My perfect boy,” and then Eggsy’s thrusting up into his hand and murmuring what might be obscenities but are probably endearments until Harry straddles him, covering him completely. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. Harry’s heavy and hot and hard and when Eggsy tilts his face up for a kiss, Harry turns his head into Eggsy’s neck and _bites._ Just like that he’s coming, spurting hot white all over his belly. 

He may or may not pass out—and either way would never admit it—but when he next looks, Harry’s beside him, cleaning his stomach with a warm washcloth.

“What’re ya doin?” he asks, exhausted. Charlie’s alcazar may have been posh, but Eggsy didn’t let his guard down. Now that he’s here, in bed, fresh off the best orgasm of his life—thank you, Harry—all Eggsy wants to do is sleep.

Harry shakes his head. “Your majesty’s combat skills are top-notch, but your hygiene leaves something to be desired.”

How like him to complain about Eggsy’s hygiene right after quite literally fucking his brains out. Eggsy drops his mouth in mock shock. “You saying I smell or summat?”

The bed is warm and soft beneath him, and Harry is warm against his back. Then he noses up Eggsy’s neck, from his spine to his earlobe.

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly, and Eggsy has to turn around to make sure he isn’t joking. (Not that Harry ever jokes. At least, Eggsy hasn’t seen it yet.)

“What, really?” he asks. “What, am I rank, Harry?” 

“No,” he says, smugly. “You just smell like me.”

It’s but the work of a moment to dim the lights, tuck him in, and remove his blindfold (with a press of lips to each eyelid) and then Harry’s heading out the door. 

Something seems…off about that, but Eggsy’s too tired to know what it is. He does stop Harry though, with a voice as tired as he feels.”Harry,” he whispers, when he’s halfway out the door. Harry looks back at him, the lines of his suit extra sharp against the light from outside. His glasses glint as Harry looks at him.

“Yes, your majesty?”

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say until it’s out of his mouth.

“It’s all right, innit? With the bounty hunters and—

Harry freezes, eyes on the door like he’s afraid of what he’ll find if he turns around. Harry reaches to readjust his glasses with one slim finger and Eggsy realizes he looks just as immaculate as he did two hours ago. He’s been hot, sweaty, desperate, coming and sated, but Harry…

Eggsy isn’t dumb enough not to realize that Harry’s doing all of this on purpose, as he does everything, but for the first time he recognizes the brittleness, the pretense of it.

“I forgive you,” he says finally. “You fucking wanker.”

This time, Harry can’t stop himself from turning around.

“Well, I…”

If there are sights more beautiful than a speechless Harry Hart, Eggsy has yet to see them. 

Eventually, Harry bows, not low, but pronounced enough that Eggsy knows what he’s doing.

“Your majesty,” Harry murmurs, and gently closes the door.

_Yes_ , thinks Eggsy, _that sounds just about right. That sounds perfect._

* * *

 “You just smell like me?” Eggsy whispers, furious. Harry’s enjoying this, the bastard. Of course he is. “I might as well have **PROPERTY OF HARRY HART** stamped in giant letters on my bloody forehead!”

And on the day he’s set to become a real-live Entitled, too. Perfect. Maybe the guy at the desk will just reject his forms and he can just go on home. Yeah, right.

Harry scoffs. “Of course you couldn’t, your majesty. That would be entirely inappropriate, not to mention impractical. I doubt even an Entitled would be able to get away with that.”

And he’s right. Merlin had suggested they opt for secrecy (colorless clothes, blending into the background), but Harry’s little _performance_ last night—Merlin’s words—had rendered that impossible. So people notice them. Or, to be more specific, _splices_ notice them. A human with an armed guard and the scent of a former Kingsman on him? They attract their fair share of attention. But this is, like, bureaucracy central. There’s so many people (although people is…it’s a fucking lie is what it is) milling around that even the ones who stop to look have to move on almost immediately after to sign a form, fill out a questionnaire, or speak to a representative. 

Red tape looks the same in any language, Eggsy figures. 

In any case, he’s not too upset with the way things are going. Harry had done his best to stay away from Eggsy all morning, probably guilty at the way he had lost control—while conveniently preventing Eggsy from seeing any of it. So if they crowd is pressing close enough that Harry has to stay _really_ close to Eggsy and press a hand to the small of his back every once in a while, Eggsy is not complaining, not in the slightest. 

“Gentlemen, there are no less than eighteen hidden pairs of eyes on us at the moment,” Merlin drawls in a bored voice. “Please save the mating rituals for your personal quarters.”

Right, Merlin was there. Roxy was there too, Christ. Not to mention the Abrasaxes and all their invisible bloody spies. 

Harry bristles. From the look on his face, he’d been quite aware of the effect he was having, and was enjoying it. Now…well, now he remembered. He was a splice, and Eggsy was an Entitled, or at least he would be if they ever got through the endless circus of stamped and paperwork. 

“Oi,” says Eggsy. (He is never, NEVER going to call him Merlin. The man is not a bloody magician.) “If they’re so hidden, how come you can count ‘em?”

Merlin just looks at him. He doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. “If your blood is so blue,” he says, narrowing his eyes like it’s an earnest question and not a thinly veiled (not at all, really) insult, “why do you smell like the back of a splice whorehouse?”

Eggsy doesn’t get speechless. Ever. But now…his mouth dries up, and he stutters, stumbling over the words in his mouth. Did he just…he didn’t did he? That’s inappropriate. Beyond inappropriate. Eggsy feels the sharp twinge of embarrassment, followed by its inevitable descent into slow burn lust at being reminded of his night’s activities here, in public, but the second most attractive man he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. Were all splices this distractingly hot, or was just he the unluckiest man alive?

“That’s rhetorical,” Merlin adds, stepping backwards to whisper so only Eggsy can hear. It’s just coincidence that brings him flush against Eggsy’s back, and his lips to the shell of Eggsy’s ear. “I know exactly what you were up to last night, your majesty.” Lust mixes with the shame and 

Roxy saves him then, pulling him into another office to fill out form 2381-29A something or another as Harry gestures Merlin to the side with a sharp word and a firm look. For Harry, it’s about as subtle as dragging Merlin by his hair. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Eggsy says.

Roxy shakes her head, slipping the oblivious worker what looks like a good deal of money beneath their filled-out (for the third time) forms. “I told you—mating rituals.”

“Mating…oh fuck, Roxy, I thought you were kidding! Fucking mental, this is.”

“Comes with the territory,” Roxy said. “Besides, Merlin’s just jealous.”

What?

“I don’t mind, really, as long as they keep me out of it.” 

Roxy’s laugh is what does it, really. She opens her mouth and a dozen weird alien things turn to look. “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

An alien shows up and speaks to him in a weird voice. “Seals and signets are on sub-33.”

“That’s us,” Harry says suddenly, and Roxy nods to him and Eggsy. 

“I’ll see you back at the ship,” Roxy says.

“You’re leaving me alone?” Eggsy says, pouting. “I thought we were friends.”

“I don’t really know if _alone_ is the word I’d use, your majesty.” Roxy laughs again, making her way between Harry and Merlin to get to the door. “Good luck!” 

* * *

 The office of bureaucracy and legislation looked exactly like the building where Eggsy had gotten his license, but the signet room…

“Are you fuckin with me, mate?”

In the middle of the room, with a spotlight on it and everything, is a fucking tattoo chair. It’s bright and metallic, with things shining and beams of light floating , but it’s a tattoo chair. 

Harry turns. “Your majesty?”

“I thought we were coming here to turn me into an Entitled, not…whatever the fuck this is.” 

Merlin just rolls his eyes.

“I ain’t lettin’ some wanker near me with a fucking needle,” Eggsy says. “You two geniuses trying to get me killed?”

Before the kidnapping, before the spaceship assault, before the near death experience, he might have been more trustworthy, but now? Now everything looked like a threat—everything 

except for Harry and Merlin…to a certain extent. 

The sudden warm weight of Harry’s hand on his shoulder is more calming than it has any right to be, and Eggsy has to stop himself from leaning into it.

“No, your majesty,” Harry explains. It’s not a secret tattoo parlor, it’s the seal and signet room. What the leafy-green looking alien at the counter had neglected to tell him was that the official seal of an Entitled wasn’t made on a sheet of paper, but on his skin.

“Your hand, sir,” announces the manager, looking bored, and inserts it into a machine that whirs and buzzes as it comes to life. “Fifteen minutes,” he adds, and then he’s gone.

Fifteen minutes, to change his life—to turn him into an Entitled, to cut him off from his old life forever, to change him in the eyes of…everyone. Eggsy grits his teeth and closes his eyes. Harry’s hand is still on his shoulder; he wiggles it, and Harry squeezes back reassuringly.

“Does it hurt?” Merlin asks. “I was unaware humans had such low pain tolerances.”

_If you only knew,_ thinks Eggsy. It doesn’t hurt, not exactly. There’s no needle, just a microscopically thin beam of light burning a swirling pattern of lilac and blue into his skin. The little zings of sensation feel like an electric beam going straight to his cock, though, and Eggsy struggles not to squirm—especially in front of Merlin, the little shit. Harry’s far too close, really, and his fingers on Eggsy’s shoulders are digging into the muscles…

“Not even a little bit,” Eggsy says. He forces a grin, but the effect is rather ruined when his hand rotates in the machine and starts on a new patch of skin. He inhales sharply, hissing as the burn spreads through his arm all over again.

“Well done, Eggsy. 10 more minutes,” Harry hums in approval, kneading Eggsy’s shoulders with both hands now. “Breathe.”

Eggsy does.

“No, not pain, I don’t think,” Merlin continues. Eggsy focuses on his footsteps as he crosses the room, ignoring the growing tightness in his jeans.

“Merlin,” Harry warns, but Merlin ignores him. Eggsy curses as a thin finger trails up the side of his calf.

“Discomfort?” Merlin asks, his finger trailing still upward. “You’re not squirming in your seat for nothing.”

“You’d be squirming too, if you were getting a fucking brand,” Eggsy curses under his breath, shifting in his seat.

This isn’t happening. It’s not. It’s not possible. Harry’s massage is just reassurance and Merlin is just being a right prick, so if Eggsy can just ignore how good Harry’s hands feel on his skin and the way the shocks at his wrist go straight to his cock, then everything will be fine. Right?

Merlin’s finger reaches the outside of his thigh and whatever Eggsy was going to say dies on his lips. _Breathe_ , he thinks, Harry’s words like an echo in his mind, _just breathe._

“Cute,” Merlin says flatly, then slides his hand so that his fingers brush against the inside of Eggsy’s thigh. 

Eggsy’s dick throbs in his jeans, and he draws his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle the moan that so desperately wants to come out. His back arches with the effort and Harry’s hands dip to his neck immediately—not circling it, but close, stroking the sides of his throat. 

“Merlin, if you keep that up, I swear to Christ—

“What? Hit me? That’s odd. From the look on your face, I’d have sworn you were…enjoying this.”

Merlin hand tightens, clamping down on Eggsy’s thigh just inches from his dick.

“Five minutes,” Harry says, bending down to whisper against Eggsy’s ear. “Behave.”

His hips twitch, and he keeps himself from thrusting against Merlin’s hand with an effort, but he can do it. He can be good. For Harry. _Fuck._

“Fuckin’ hell,” Eggsy says, despite himself, and whines, pressing back into Harry’s hands. 

“This is entirely inappropriate, Merlin,” Harry says. “Hardly befitting a Kingsman.”

“Or an Entitled,” Merlin says, turning the sentiment against Eggsy. Ignoring his erection completely, Merlin brings both hands up to press firmly into Eggsy’s hips. 

This is a test, Eggsy knows. There’s the same sense of anticipation, of expectation. He can feel it in the air. And he knows what he looks like, he’s (fuck) practically offering himself to them, spread out on the table like this, but he can’t bring himself to care, not with Merlin’s fingers teasing at the seam of his jeans, and Harry above him, murmuring endearments and encouragement into his hair. 

“Harry, please, I don’t—” he asks. _I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what you want me to do._

Overstimulated from pain, pleasure and the sheer nearness of Harry and Merlin, all that comes out is a broken moan.

With a click, the machine shuts off, and Merlin and Harry step away from him, Eggsy whimpers, feeling bereft.

“15 minutes. Well done, Eggsy. My perfect boy.” He lifts his head like he had done the night before and feels breath against his lips, but no kiss.

“Merlin?” he asks.

He can feel Merlin’s nod in the air above him, slow and measured. 

“Top marks, as always, your majesty,” he says, breathing hot along his earlobe.

And now Eggsy is really confused.

“Harry?” he asks.

“A reward, as it were.”

“For good behavior?”

Harry squeezes the nape of Eggsy’s neck. 

“Exactly.”

Merlin doesn’t kiss like Harry. Where Harry’s all heat and fire, greedy and possessive, Merlin is slow, and deliberate. He maps every single inch of Eggsy’s mouth with his tongue, until Eggsy is panting and out of breath.

“Your majesty,” Merlin murmurs, and then Eggsy hears a door close.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, “Eggsy.” He kisses his eyelids, first one, then the other. He opens his eyes. 

“Marvelous, your Majesty,” Harry says.

“What, me?” Eggsy asks.

Harry smiles, watching, but not helping, as Eggsy puts himself back together. “Yes, you, of course. But I was referring to the Abrasax seal.”

So it’s done then. Eggsy Abrasax, formerly Eggsy Unwin, now an Entitled, with all that comes with. He couldn’t want anything less…although. His mother hasn’t been on vacation since…ever, his sister has never had a real Christmas, or a birthday present, and he hasn’t ever been anywhere outside of his hometown. (Except for out of space and to half a dozen other planets, but those don’t count.) Money trumps all as usual. Eggsy hates it as much as he knows there’s no way in hell he wasn’t going to take it.

“So that’s it, then,” he says, bitter and frustrated from more than just lack of an orgasm, “You’re a splice and I’m an Entitled.” He scoffs, twisting his wrist this way and that to look at the floating seal. It looks like a hologram. “And never the twain shall meet, yeah?”

Eggsy looks up to see Harry smiling down at him, and the cold shard in his chest dissipates as a rush of warmth fills him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It’s that weird combination of pride and surprise that never fails to make Eggsy weak in the knees, but there’s something different about it today. Harry looks almost…sad. He shakes it off, and is saved from having to respond by the reappearance of the clerk. 

“Everything to his majesty’s satisfaction?” he asks, barely even looking at Eggsy as he disinfects and resets the machine.

Satisfaction? No, not really. Eggsy huffs. In a perfect world, he would have come three times in that back room. It’s amazing how quickly things change. A week ago, a perfect world would have involved getting off with a guy who didn’t have to pay him first. Now…

“Not yet,” Harry laughs, a small dark grin sliding across his face, “But soon.” 

* * *

 Walking back into the ship, Eggsy wants nothing more than to make his way into Harry’s room and fuck him till he cries, but a small white envelope on his bed makes him pause. Inside is just a picture, with a name and a set of coordinates at the bottom. Nothing, really, but the picture is of Daisy, and his mum. Even here in outer space, a threat is a threat is a threat. So he memorizes the coordinates, leaves the envelope, and makes his way to the transport room. At least if he doesn’t make it out alive, Harry and Merlin will know where to go. They’ll keep his family safe.

Spaceships are hard to work out, at first, but after a few quick lessons (thank you Roxy), Eggsy knows at least enough to steal one. Intuitive design and whatever the space version of cruise control is mean that all he really has to do is input his name and a set of coordinates and he’s on his way. The Entitled seal gives him access to everything, and while part of him feels sick at using the power, the other part of him is gleeful about misusing it, so. It works out. Lucky for him the eldest Abrasax doesn’t feel the need to hide. 

Or not. Eggsy has to knock out at least a dozen splice/alien things before he even sees an Abrasax.

“You’re not Valentine, are you?” Eggsy asks conversationally. He flashes a smile, then slams an incoming alien’s head into the wall before leaning against it to get a better look at his newest sibling. 

Apparently someone’s invented a color darker than black, because Gazelle looks like a black hole—a sharp, sleek black hole, with knives for legs. “Welcome to my alcaszar, Gary. Do make yourself comfortable.”Gazelle smiles, and her mouth is all teeth.

“This ain’t high tea, love,” Eggsy says, wiping his bloody hand off on what looks like obnoxiously expensive embroidered curtains. “And my name ain’t fucking Gary. I know who I am. I know who you are. What do you want?”

A chair appears from no where and Gazelle eases into it, her legs glinting like needles in the night. She spares him a withering glance. “My father had better manners.”

Eggsy thinks of his mother’s empty dresser drawer, the telescope he’s never seen outside his own imagination.

“Your father’s dead,” he spits. “Tell me.”

She rolls her eyes, probably offended by his rudeness. Oh well. 

“I want to marry you,” she says eventually.

Eggsy half expects the world to drop out from beneath him. For it to be a tactic, a disorientation. But Gazelle just watches him, gauging his reaction.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She must have been waiting for him to appear, because she’s got a proposal all lined up. Regenex is not what Charlie made it out to be. It’s not synthetic skin, or HGH, stem cells, or any of the other million ideas Eggsy had considered before he forgot. It’s people. 

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it fucking isn’t!”

“Yes, it is,” Gazelle repeats. “And you’re the only one who can help me stop it.” 

* * *

 She’s not lying, at least about that. She’s got goals and plans and thoughts and ideas, but no actual answers, and for once, Eggsy misses Harry’s long winded and overly detailed explanations. He misses Harry, in general. But even as he wears Gazelle’s clothes and drinks Gazelles’s tea (space hospitality, or something), Eggsy’s aware of a slight feeling of tightness, beneath his skin. It could still be a trap. He’s not calling Harry here until he’s totally fucking sure. Still, it sucks being alone. Oh god. It hits him like a punch to the gut, and he gasps audible in the wide open room.

“I miss you, Harry,” he breathes, and he’s halfway through a string of particularly inventive string of curses when he hears a beep echoing in…is it in his ear? Or in his head? He can’t tell.

“Your majesty,” a voice says, “Some notification before you abscond with a nearly priceless piece of technology next time, if you would be so kind.”

Harry? But of course it’s Harry.

“Are you talking about whatever it is you’re using to talk to me, or the plasma gun I lifted from Merlin’s chambers?”

From the sharp intake of breath, Harry didn’t know about the gun.

“Both,” he covers smoothly, “But let’s not forget about the spaceship.”

“Ah yes. That.”

“Well done, Eggsy. That was impressive.”

Eggsy practically preens, shifting on the bed trying to hide the huge smile on his face even though he’s alone in the room.

“So, are you going to bust me out of here, or do I have to do all the hard work myself?”

“We’re on our way. Whatever Gazelle’s up to, just stall her.”

Eggsy coughs. “About that.”

After a moment, Harry sighs. “Yes, Eggsy,” he prompts. There’s just the slightest bit of irritation in his voice and Eggsy can’t help smiling. For once, however, he stifles his urge to push Harry’s buttons.

“I think she wants to marry me.”

Silence.

“It’s for some plan to save the world—stop the Abrasax, destroy Regenex, all that jazz. Sounds like a decent plan to be honest—

“No.” Harry says firmly.

Eggsy laughs. “Jealous?”

“No.” Harry says again. This time, a growl bleeds through the intercom, making Eggsy shiver. “Gazelle is a treacherous snake. The only person she’s loyal to is Valentine.”

“Valentine?” So this is a trap. Great. All of a sudden, an idea comes to him. Something Gazelle had said—some offhand comment , about Harry and his lack of wings.

“What if I wasn’t an Entitled?” he asks

The line starts breaking up then.

“Harry?”

“Sorry gentlemen, I rerouted the power, but the firewalls are coming back up. You’re going to lose connection.” 

“Thank you Merlin,” Harry says. 

“Thank you Merlin,” Eggsy repeats automatically. He rolls his eyes at his own stupid eagerness, but Merlin just chuckles.

“Of course, your majesty.” He clicks off.

“Are you on the bed?”

“Yes.”

“Clothes?”

“Something Gazelle gave me. I woke up in it.”

Another sharp inhale. 

“Close your eyes.”

Eggsy does. Eyes shut, arms behind his back, a hand firmly gripping each forearm, kneelingbeside his bed, Eggsy listens to Harry murmuring into his ear. _You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m coming for you. You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m coming for you._ Over and over again, until the transmitter turns to static.

And that’s that. Eggsy sighs, tightening his hands and tries to come up with a way out. Bullies and street gangs, he can take on,but royal families? Genocides and political takeovers? All this is way out of his league. And what if he can’t find a way out of the marriage? Shit. And that’s when he hears it. A faint click, a low crackle of static, and then, quiet, but distinct. 

_I won’t let anyone else have you._

* * *

 Apparently, Gazelle had absolutely no intention of reinstating Harry and Merlin as kingsmen, and absolutely every intention of killing them in their sleep, so when Eggsy brings it up, she is considerably distressed—distressed enough to hand two reinstatement orders to Eggsy in exchange for his promise to marry her the next day.

It’s around hour 17 that Eggsy starts to go a little stir crazy. He goes through three different sets of exercises, tries every trick he can to get the door unlocked (none of them work), even thinks about wanking. Harry’s face is fresh in his mind though, and the look of fondness on his face swims to the forefront of Eggsy’s mind every time. He hasn’t asked, hasn't requested, hasn’t even implied, but somehow Eggsy knows that he would prefer Eggsy wait. Even if he is planning on getting married in a few hours. The ridiculousness of his situation threatens to overwhelm him, and he starts laughing, first quietly, then loudly, hysterically. Soon, he’s banging on the door, screaming.

“Father,” Gazelle says, upon entering the room, then catches herself. “My apologies, Gary. The resemblance is…uncanny.”

Eggsy groans. Not this again. 

“I’m not your bloody father,” he says, then squints. “And you want to marry me? That’s fucked, even for an Entitled like you.”

Gazelle smiles then, and it’s all Eggsy can do not to punch her teeth out. “Like us, you mean. We are Abrasax. Rules, customs, propriety—they mean nothing. We can do what we like.” She gives him an appraising glance. If she weren’t crazy, or his great-great-grandsomething, or planning to turn the Earth into soup, he might be interested. As it stands now, he totally ignores her.

“What about good and bad?” he spits. “Right and wrong? Those words mean anything to you?” Fucking snobs in their ivory towers. They’re all the same, even up here. 

“Of course,” she says flatly. Now that he _knows_ she’s lying, the façade is even thinner. He can see straight through the false innocence, the transparent appeal to his good side. It occurs to him that perhaps she’s no longer trying.

She leads him to a large room, deep purple, with velvet and silver trim. His clothes are in the far right corner of the room, and she watches him cross the floor to retrieve them before taking her leave. “Thank you again,” she says, inclining her head.

The next time Eggsy hears from Harry, he’s halfway through dressing.

“How would you like to become a Kingsman?” Harry asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“What?”

“It supersedes your Entitled status. You can’t…”

It fades into white noise and Eggsy can’t hear anything. It makes him smile, though, that Harry would contact him—and he knows it’s Harry. Merlin’s communications are always clear (like, crystal clear). 

“Would I be with you?” Eggsy asks, and he knows it’s a long shot, knows Harry probably can’t hear him either…

“Of course,” Harry says, but with the static, it sounds like _always._  

* * *

 It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not that Eggsy’s wedding day was supposed to look like anything in particular—marriage hadn’t ever made it onto his list of potential things to waste time on—but still. An endless airless chamber filled with people he’s never met and aliens he never knew existed? Mum would be appalled. (Mum would probably have a heart attack or two, maybe a mental breakdown, then be appalled.)  

“We’re 15 minutes out,” Harry says, then pauses. “And do try not to get married, Eggsy.”

He can do this. It’s basically a catwalk, designed for Entitled who want to how off their wealth more than they want to be pledging their lives to someone. Eggsy isn’t surprised. He works it like a runway, amusing himself with their shocked and horrified expressions as he saunters down the runway grinning and winking at everyone who looks at him.

“Hot stuff, Eggsy!” Someone shouts from the front of the room, and Eggsy notices, for the first time, the very distinct lack of a bride at the end of the aisle and very distinct presence of a man instead. He does an exaggerated bow, squinting around the endless decorations to get a good look at the man.

“What’s that, bruv?” 

“I was told you were unkempt, uncouth and uninteresting, but it looks like _some people_ were hiding the truth from me.”

Eggsy brushes past a curtain of rose petals to see a man dressed in white. He’s standing on what looks like an altar, nursing a champagne glass full of a bright pink liquid. He glares down at Gazelle, who scoffs and twists in her seat, bending down to pick an imaginary piece of lint from the shining blade at her knee. 

“Valentine,” Eggsy growls, stepping forward as he recognizes what’s inside the glass. It’s Regenex. His hands curl into fists.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts. 

Valentine just laughs, a big, good-natured laugh. It makes Eggsy sick to his stomach. He can hear Harry’s voice in his head _Patience, Eggsy._ But some people just deserve a punch in the face, and Valentine is one of them. One hit, right in his posh face. BLAM.

“Tell me what the fuck is going on right the fuck now,” he shouts.

Valentine takes a sip of the Regenex, and Eggsy watches in morbid fascination as wrinkles he hadn’t even noticed smooth out across the man’s smug face.

“I believe I came here,” he says, throwing his arms out to the crowd, “for a wedding!”

Chills run down Eggsy’s spine as the crowd roars and applauds, but he hears less enthusiasm than blind obedience. 

“You ain’t come here for shit,” Eggsy spits. “Sorry, bruv, but you ain’t my type.”

Valentine laughs quietly, then adjusts his enormous fucking hat, “Wolves, was it? Sorry I can’t help you out there. Splices are…” He trails off, sharing a look of pity and disgust with Gazelle as if even to finish the sentence would be too offensive. 

“Shut it,” Eggsy shouts, and in the echo he notices one of the guests still applauding after most of the noise has died down and Eggsy resists the urge to say something. There’s something…uncomfortable about it. He looks at Valentine, and Valentine looks at him, the mask of easygoing enthusiasm slipping further and further until all Eggsy can see is cold rage. Something in it is familiar, and he recognizes Dean’s cold anger in Valentine’s too-young eyes. He takes a step forward, anticipating the explosion.

“Gazelle!” Valentine screams, dropping his champagne glass on the transparent floor. “Shut that motherfucker up!” 

How many innocent souls was that? A hundred? A thousand? No more.

“Sorry, Harry,” Eggsy whispers, and launches himself forward, rushing through a gauzy curtain and leaping over three rows of aliens to reach Gazelle. 

They circle each other while Valentine retreats behind the podium. “Fuckin’ hell,” Eggsy breathes, looking for an opening, “So what was all that you were banging on about then?” He doesn’t find one.

“I lied,” Gazelle says, with a smile as sharp as her legs and inclines her head in a mocking parody of a bow. The flash of her eyes as she raises her head is the only warning Eggsy has, then she’s coming towards him, and his brain shuts off.

* * *

 

10 minutes later, Gazelle’s bleeding out on the steps (stabbed by her own heels, Eggsy’s proud of himself).

“VALENTINE!” His voice is thick and full in the crisp air, and it echoes inthe huge antechamber. 

“You really won’t marry me?”

“No.”

“You’re totally sure?”

Screaming, Eggsy rushes towards Valentine, but finds himself blocked. Of fucking course. Force field.

“Nuh-uh, Mr. Unwin, I just can’t be around that kind of violent energy.”

A tinkle, a chime, and a mechanical buzz fills the air, vibrating the hairs on his arms and making his eyes water. 

Valentine, when he turns, is facing him, an apologetic grin on his face. 

“My apologies, but you’re going to have to deal with my…representatives.” 

As one, the entire wedding party turns and stares at him. 

“Let me know when you change your mind,” Valentine yells.

It’s the last thing Eggsy hears before he runs full speed in the opposite direction, putting asm much distance as he can between himself and the literal army of aliens at his back. 

The tell-tale crackle of communication in his ear is the most beautiful sound Eggsy’s heard in his entire fucking life. “How’s the ceremony?” Harry asks.

Adrenaline flooding his body and the hollow sound of metal ringing in his ears, Eggsy laughs aloud. “Up shit creek,” Eggsy yells, rollin away from a hail o bullets. He doesn’t notice the _we_ until it’s out of his mouth, making him feel better, faster, stronger—like there’s more than one of him. Like he’s not alone.

“We’re a minute away,” Harry says. “If you can slip out gate 23-B…”

“Not an option right now, Harry!.”

And it really, really isn’t. They’re running at top speed, crashing into walls and doors like they don’t even exist. Like…like they’re zombies. Fucking alien zombies. Harry left him alone with fucking alien zombies. Eggsy’s gonna kill him.

“Kill him when we get you out,” Merlin says, and Eggsy has an idea.

“Where’s the engine room?” he asks.

It’s a big ass ballroom, but it’s also a ship, and that means there’s an engine somewhere full of fuel. 

“Merlin’s tracking at least three hundred life forms on the ship, with several dozen splices in your immediate vicinity. Is that right?”

And he realizes. Valentine did whatever he did to the splices, so that whatever Eggsy did ,he did to them. Like they were toys. Like they were expendable.

 “Eggsy?” Harry prompts, sounding strangled on the line.

He nods, then shakes his head, then remembers that, despite the closeness of the voice in his eat, Harry can’t see him. “No,” he says. “I mean, yes, but…Harry, they’re not themselves anymore, you gotta believe me. Valentine did _something_ , the little shit…

Merlin says something in an agreeable tone, then repeats it. “Zombies, right?” 

“Zombies?” he asks.

“Of sorts,” Harty responds. “The engine room is two floors down on your right. Can you get there?”

“Unwin!” A voice calls—it’s Valentine, his voice echoing off the metal walls. “You dead yet?”

“Fuck you, Valentine!” he yells, punching an approaching alien in the face.

Harry sighs like he’s bored, but Eggsy thinks he can hear a smile in it.

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding, and Harry’s pleased hum fills his ears and his mind, warming his heart and hardening his resolve. “Yeah, I can get there.” 

* * *

 When Eggsy gets back to the ship, he’s filled with a hot, shivery feeling. Fear, adrenaline, and pure joy at being alive and not being one of Valentine’s mindless killing machines. He's just killed...well...a lot of people. More people than he's really comfortable with, to be honest, but luckily for him, Harry and Merlin seem to have no intention of letting him wallow in his thoughts. Harry drags him into a corner the moment he steps foot on the lower level. He’s flush against Harry’s chest, with Merlin a hot line at his back, breathing harsh breaths into his neck.

“Your majesty,” Merlin says, slow and measured as always. Harry just stares at him, his eyes blazing with lust and jealousy and desperation. His hands open and close on Eggsy’s shoulders like his self-control is fighting a battle it has been losing for a very long time. 

Eggsy looks at him, and his heart swells with affection. This isn’t just Harry the alien, Harry the splice, Harry who saved him, Harry who helped him, Harry who he desperately want to fuck more than he wants to breath—this is Harry. Harry is all of these things, and none of them. Harry is everything to him, and he wants him with every part of his being.

He blinks. 

“Harry,” he says, helplessly, and Harry’s lips are on his, warm and firm. Harry doesn’t hold anything back this time, delving into Eggsy’s mouth and sucking on his tongue, his hands roaming Eggsy’s chest and squeezing his ass. That and Merlin’s voice in his ear. Eggsy’s body feels like it’s on fire. 

“Fuck,” Eggsy breathes, compulsively, “ _fuck fuck fuck fuck”_

Merlin draws Eggsy’s earlobe into his mouth and sucks, and Eggsy’s body jerks back. Harry literally growls, and drags them both into the nearest bedroom.

Harry pulls him into the middle of the room, kissing down his jawline and running fingers through his hair. He stops abruptly when he reaches Eggsy’s neck. 

“Get this off,” Harry says, pulling at the collar.

But it’s fucking…alien technology bullshit. Eggsy doesn’t have the presence of mind to be during this out right now. His eyes find Merlin, who’s the picture of debauchery, wanking in the corner chair with nothing but leather trousers on. He looks amused.

“In your own time,” Merlin murmurs, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, and

“That ain’t fucking fair, and you know it. I don't know how to—

Impatient, Harry reaches out and _tears_ , not just ripping the shirt in half, but practically destroying it, making Eggsy rock back on his heels with the force of his pull. His trousers are next, and soon he’s standing in front of Harry and Merlin, naked as a newborn. Not for the first time he realizes exactly how strong Harry is, and how Harry could probably do anything he wanted to Eggsy. It is, however, the first time that it occurs to him that he would _let_ Harry do anything to him. Some of hat realization must show in his face, because Harry pauses.

“What the fuck are you—no don’t fucking stop, not now.”

“I trust you,” Eggsy says.

Harry smiles, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Do you?” His hand trails up, from his hips to his waist, then his chest. He watches Eggsy’s face as he goes and Eggsy watches too, too nervous and turned on and focused on that point of skin where his body meets Harry’s fingers tht he can barely breathe. He can feel his heart racing and his nipples tightening and when Harry's fingers reach his throat, he swallows. He can’t hear anything.

A loud yelp breaks through the fog of lust and Eggsy realizes with a start that it’s him. Air swooshes teasingly over his ass cheeks and he realizes belatedly that Merlin’s behind him with…something in his hand. 

“Fucking hell, Merlin,” he curses. It’s a paddle. Or a whip. Or something. Harry’s hands are cupping his face, and rubbing circles into his skin, and Eggsy can’t force himself to turn away from him. 

“Language, Eggsy,” Harry says, but his voice is an octave lower than usual and just the sound of it has Eggsy’s toes curling into the carpet. Being the center of his attention, the center of their world, is intoxicating.  

“Yes, language,” Merlin repeats, standing close behind him and running the handle of the paddle down his spine, “Unless you’d like me to do the honors?” Merlin sounds bored, but Eggsy knows he isn’t. Eggsy can hear the tremor in his voice, the thickening of his accent—can feel his cock thick and heavy between his legs. Harry hasn’t even taken his shirt off yet, but he grins wickedly, eyes still on Eggsy and shakes his head slightly.

“You don’t. At least, not this time.” 

This time…By which…Harry has to mean there will be a next time. He wouldn’t say something like that just to…

He opens his mouth to speak and the hand at his throat tightens, a comforting weight at his nape now an insistent pressure, drawing all of his focus.

“I asked you a question, Eggsy,” Harry says, using the hand at his throat to tilt his head back.

This close, Eggsy only comes up to Harry’s nose, and he shivers at the thought of exactly how much bigger than him Harry is. In truth, he might be shivering for any number of reasons, chief of them most likely being the lack of oxygen.His cock throbs and he is reminded of the fact that he still has way too many clothes on.

“You left without word, you enacted a solo mission without authorization, and you got engaged.” His lip curls at the memory. “The least you can do is answer my questions.”

The venom in his words doesn’t shock Eggsy as much as the bitterness behind it. But then, it shouldn’t be a surprise to him at all. All this time, Eggsy had only thought of himself, when he was thinking at all, but now he sees things from Harry’s perspective. As protective as he is—as in control is he likes to be—how hard must have been to track Eggsy down in the middle of the night? To wait hours and hours for Merlin to hack through Gazelle’s endless blocks and firewalls? To listen, helpless, as Eggsy made preparations to _marry someone else_? At any other point in time, Eggsy would feel terrible, or angry, or try and punch something. Now, he feels nothing but the burning desire to _prove himself to them._

With a newfound earnestness, Eggsy nods, oblivious to the hand circling his neck. It’s hard, but swallowing around the lump in his throat, he manages a strained “Sorry, Harry. Sorry, Merlin. Please, let me make it up to you?” He bats his eyes for effect, but he’s too dazed with lust and lack of oxygen to look seductive, and knows he just looks desperate. And he’s too greedy to care. Let him look like a needy little slag. As long as Harry finally just _fucks_ him. 

The look on Harry’s face is worth the effort. He looks genuinely surprised, like he had been caught up in his emotions, and his eyes soften when he looks at Eggsy. Even Merlin softens behind him, holding a hand at his waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. The hand at histhroat lets up just a little.

“Well, of course you can, Eggsy,” Merlin says, and Eggsy goes hot all over as Harry’s smile sharpens and shift into something slightly more predatory. “That’s what this is for.”

It’s a cane. It’s a fucking cane. Eggsy flushes as all of his prep school fantasies come rushing back to the surface, and Harry hums in approval, like he was looking for it. Like he was expecting it.

“What, you going through my search history now?”

Harry shakes his head, sitting on the bed and laying Eggsy across his knees. “You’re easy to read.”

Eggsy wiggles his ass. Why won’t Harry just _fuck_ him already? “I’m easy in general, or haven’t you heard?”

Out of nowhere, a hand comes down on his ass and Eggsy forgets what he was saying. 

“Behave, Eggsy,” Harry says. “Unless you want two sets.”

“Harry wouldn’t mind, would you?”

As long as there’s a dick in his mouth or his ass or both, Eggsy doesn’t really mind, and he tells them that. He gets another swat on the ass for his troubles, and this one _hurts_. He shuts up, then. A hand drifts lazily through his hair and he realizes Merlin has come to sit at his head, so he can rest his head on a pillow.

“Harry would be delighted,” Harry says, and Eggsy can taste the steel coming in at the ends of his words, “After.”

The word is pronounced with such clear-minded deliberation that Eggsy twists on Harry’s lap to see his face and isrewarded with a light slap and his head pushed into the fabric between Merlin’s knees. 

“Are you ready?” Merlin asks, dragging his nails across Eggsy’s scalp, and Eggsy nods, brushes his lips against the inside of Merlin’s bare knee in return.

“Yes, sir,” he says, then tipping his face towards Harry, “Thank you sir.”

 When Harry puts his hand on Eggsy’s back to steady him, he can feel Harry’s legs shift beneath him to be more stable, and he can feel Harry’s dick beneath him, zipped and buttoned, but _hard_ nonetheless. The whimper comes without his knowing it and Eggsy grinds against it.

“Apologize,” Harry says simply, and Eggsy flushes.

“Yes, sir,” he says quickly. “I’m very sorry. I’ve been a bad, bad boy, and…”

Merlin laughs, but Harry’s grip on his neck tightens, becomes like steel, and he swallows hard, twisting in an effort to get some friction on his rapidly hardening cock.

All he can hear is Harry’s voice, and all he can feel are Harry’s hands on his back, and Merlin’s fingers brushing against his forehead.

“For rushing out like a madman,” Harry clarifies, bringing his hand down hard on Eggsy’s ass. He hisses with the force of it. 

“Fuck, Harry,” Eggsy yelps. It’s nothing like any of the boys (or girls) he’s played with at school, or in closets or libraries. Harry’s hand is heavy, and it doesn’t seem at all like he’s trying to make it easy for Eggsy. He hits him, twice more, and it feels like all the blood in Eggsy’s system flows straight to his cock. He feels lightheaded for a second. 

“Holy shit,” he murmurs into Merlin’s leg, as the blows continue to rain down on his ass. He’s too hot, he’s stifling. He want to strip naked and sit at Merlin and Harry’s feet and never move for the rest of his life.

“Just like that,” Merlin murmurs approvingly. His voice is softer than Eggsy can ever remember it being, and, caught between the strength of Harry’s had and the softness of Merlin’s voice, encouraging him and telling him how lovely he is, Eggsy feels more overwhelmed than ever.

“For being reckless,” Harry continues. His breath comes heavy, in rhythm with the smacks, as he grasps Eggsy’s arms behind his back.

“Yes, Harry,” Egssy answers, past the shyness he never had much of to begin with. He grinds down on Harrys’ dick shamelessly and he arches both towards and away from the warmth of Harry’s hand. “I’m sorry Harry. I’m sorry Merlin.”

“For what?” Merlin asks, and Eggsy wracks his brain. “For leaving without saying anything, for being reckless, for…fuck, Harry, please.” And then words fail him and he’s just babbling _please please please_ over and over and over, even though he doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

“My sweet boy.”

It’s Harry above him, feeling a million times gentler than the softest cotton as he scoops Eggsy into his arms. 

“For endangering your own life,” Harry says, and Eggsy feels more naked than ever. Because he had done exactly that. He had, in fact, been doing that for months now, living with mum and Dean.

It’s as though Harry can hear him thinking, because he runs his hand through Eggsy’s hair then, gripping it tight enough to draw his attention before he raises his eyebrows.

“An Entitled knows his worth,” he says, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Merlin nods. “And you, dear boy, are priceless.”

The bed isn’t made for three people, much less when two of them are unfairly muscled splices, but the three of them just…fit, somehow. When the night’s over, and the three of them are hot, sweaty and breathing heavy, all tangled up in bed together, there’s nowhere in the world Eggsy would rather be. 

* * *

He’s drifting off to sleep when he hears (or, rather, feels) Merlin’s amused rumble behind him.

“A slut for it,” he says, looking at Harry, and Harry nods in return. 

“I said that, as I recall,” he murmurs, thumbing at the corner of Eggsy’s lip. Eggsy grins and takes it into his mouth. Sleepy, sex-drunk and _still_ arguing. They’re lucky he loves them.

Merlin growls. “I seem to remember you saying that gentlemen don’t bet.”

“They don’t,” Harry says, grinning, and rearranges the blankets over the three of them. “They just win.”  

* * *

When Eggsy finally gets home to see his mum, the first thing he does is punch Dean in the face and knock him out with one of Merlin’s fancy toys. The second thing he does is gather her and Daisy in his arms and tell them how much he loves them.

A telltale crackle warms Eggsy’s ears and he smiles into Daisy’s curls. Harry’s pleased sigh on the other end of the communication bud is as familiar as the smell of his sister's hair, or his mum's voice when it thickens with tears.

“You’re a sap, your majesty” Harry says fondly, and Eggsy scoffs under his breath, though his chest swells with emotion when he hears Merlin in the background, muttering something about unnecessary displays of emotion.

“You love me,” he fires back, easy as anything, and his lovers on the other end, for once, are silent. Because—entitled or not, human, or splice, or anything—they do. Both of them do. And that’s worth all the kingdoms in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr's just a lot of ot3s and flailing, but come say hi! 
> 
> thebriggsbrigade.tumblr.com


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